


Aniki

by nocowardpath



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:18:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocowardpath/pseuds/nocowardpath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Abandoned; feel free to write a continuation/use the ideas here.) An AU where Naegi gets the Deus Ex switch after the Chapter 2 trial and the students of Hope’s Peak escape; the apocalyptic outside world had merely been a ruse by Junko to create more despair, and their families are outside waiting for them. However, Ishimaru still has to deal with the aftereffects of such a traumatic experience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For this chapter, trigger warning for blood, a tiny bit of gore, descriptions of dead people and implied necro (Ishimaru has weird dreams, alright?)  
> Also, I started writing this around three in the morning so this might not be a quality piece of writing.

Rules.

They were his way of coping with life, and after they escaped, he needed so many of them.

They were perfectly normal, of course: additional regulations on how to fold and sort his uniforms, arranging his bookshelf by author, and strict bedtimes. He had to retire early, because it would make up for the lost hours tossing and turning, and sobbing, and waking up in the middle of the night to find the pillow soaked with tears.

All of the survivors had been excused from school for a month; their minds were too full of tragedy to learn anything. This left Ishimaru with plenty of freetime, which he spent catching up on weeks worth of homework he’d missed. He was getting sloppy, though; he drew boxes to fit each of his math problems in so he would stay organized.

His parents were busy people, and had to leave on a business trip for a few days. They trusted Ishimaru wholeheartedly, and left a note on the fridge. He should have read it, but he didn’t.

The first day they were gone, he did something sick, sick and disgusting. He made toast. Perfect French toast, dipped in egg and cinnamon and milk. He spread butter on his toast, as usual, and had a healthy, delicious breakfast. Despite its healthy, deliciousness, however, it didn’t stay in his system for long. He remembered the execution of his best friend, the little plastic box that popped out; it had been labelled “Mondo Butter” and Hagakure had told him he’d found it on the hallway floor--it probably contained Oowada’s remains, and he'd predicted they weren’t going to be pleasant to look at. The Super-High-School-Level Fortune Teller had been right for once.

Inside was not butter, but a strange, foul-smelling red liquid. Ishimaru had been in his room when he’d opened it, and he'd yelped and dropped the container and it had spilled onto him and he had vomited and had to find cleaning supplies from the storage room and clean it all up himself.

Ishimaru shuddered at the memory and gagged again, running to the bathroom to vomit up his breakfast. He wasn’t able to keep anything else down for the rest of the day except milk and a few crackers, and he hid the butter in the back of the fridge.

Ishimaru had an odd dream that night. He dreamed Aniki hadn’t been electrocuted, they were sitting together and he kissed his best friend and held him, and then he felt dirt under his knees and stopped for a moment and asked where they were.

“We’re in a graveyard, Kiyotaka. I’m dead. You’re kissing a dead body. Isn’t that sick?” It was sick, but he didn’t care. He laid his head on Mondo’s maggot-infested chest, content as could be. He felt his flesh being torn away from his bones and looked up as Mondo swallowed.

“What are you doing, Aniki?”

“Just returning the favor,” he said as he grinned widely--so cute, even with the blood dripping from his lips and bits of flesh stuck in his teeth. Ishimaru smiled back at him, glad to see him so happy.

He woke up sweaty and sticky and oh god no what was wrong with him. Ishimaru walked into the shower and turned it on as cold as he could stand. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew this was an unhealthy behavior and might give him a cold, but for once in his life he did not give a single fuck.

_Wait, why am I thinking that? That’s a vulgar word--_

“Fuck,” he said, slowly, putting a hand to his lips to see how it felt. “Fuck,” he whispered, sliding down into a sitting position. Ishimaru turned the temperature of the water up to a more reasonable setting, and cried. It wasn’t his usual spontaneous crying as he shouted out his feelings; he just sobbed, so quietly.


	2. [Ending 1]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings that I can think of for this chapter.  
> What I'm doing here is having two different endings: One that's somewhat happy, and another that continues the angstfest. (This is the somewhat happy one; the other isn't finished yet, but once it is, you can skip this one to go to the depressing ending. I'm also considering having some supernatural elements in the depressing ending, but I might just make a separate ending for that, too.)

He was getting a little better. Not by much, but just a little. Naegi had insisted on group therapy, and Ishimaru went to every session, but no one managed to get him to speak. (After the third session his parents yelled at him for wasting their money when they came to pick him up, and Togami reminded them that he was paying for it. Ishimaru would have congratulated Togami on caring for other human beings.) It was helpful, though, to see the others having similar feelings to his. They’d all been affected by the killings (except for Syo, of course, but she was under house arrest for life; the only reason she wasn't in prison was Fukawa, but she still had to be escorted everywhere by armed guards), even Togami, though he tried not to let it show.   
He had never really used the internet much, but eventually he was a month ahead in homework and Asahina and Sakura came to his house to physically remove his schoolbooks. (The two of them were inseparable now. Ishimaru would have been happy to see them so well-bonded.) So he just sat at home, looking up the names of his dead comrades.  
Sayaka was going to have a huge funeral, with thousands of fans attending. So would Leon; a special scholarship was created in his name to help teenagers who wanted to pursue careers in sports or music. Mukuro--it had been Mukuro, not Junko, who had died, and Junko was in prison now, about to face a huge trial against her--had a stranger following. Reports were coming in of huge fires all around the world, burning in the shape of a wolf. Chihiro was mourned by just about every programmer in Japan--he’d created many of the systems they used, and the accounts of people who put up disparaging comments about his gender were strangely all deleted. He was afraid to look up Mondo’s name. He was afraid that no one would care about the gang leader, that the world would go on spinning without a single sign his best and only friend had ever existed.   
One day, when his parents were out (they were always working) someone knocked on his door. Ishimaru’s first reaction was to jump out of his seat in fear, but he managed to remember propriety, and went to get the door. A strange man was at his door, wearing the same coat Ishimaru held every night (though not as intricately embroidered; Mondo had told him once that only the leaders got dragons on their coats) and a bright-pink pompadour.   
“Hey, uh, I’m one of Mondo’s mates, and since you were close to him, we were wondering if you wanted to come to his funeral, it’s at 9 this Sunday, so if you can make it, that’d be nice.”  
After a moment of silence, he managed to speak. “Alright. I should be able to come.”  
“Cool, thanks. And, uh, sorry for your loss.” Ishimaru nodded and shut the door.   
A few of the others insisted on accompanying him, which he probably appreciated. Asahina, Naegi, and Hagakure showed up at his door the day of the funeral. It was larger than he’d thought, and instead of being in one location the bikers paraded through the streets, with pictures of Mondo strapped to the backs of their motorcycles. The coat Mondo had worn the day he was inaugurated as leader (the Crazy Diamonds had some elaborate traditions; one was that a dead member’s closest relative got their everyday coat, so Ishimaru had been allowed to keep Mondo’s coat since no one knew where Mondo’s parents were) was hung over Mondo’s prized motorcycle, a pure white coat with gold satin lining, now embroidered all over with prayers from each member of the gang in a hundred different colors. Some people who didn’t have bikes--mostly relatives of gang members, and of course, Ishimaru and his classmates--walked alongside the bikes. It was silent, except for the sound of engines. The Diamonds had apparently arranged for the streets in their neighborhood to be cleared, since there was nary a car in sight. Eventually they came to a small dog park, and with no explanation, everyone riding motorcycles dismounted and entered the park. Ishimaru and his classmates followed, confused, until they came to a small gravestone, and the others began to circle around it.  
One man stepped out of the crowd and simply said, “He wanted to be buried with Chuck.” Another came out holding a shovel, and dug a small hole beside the stone. A third came, holding the white coat. The man solemnly lowered the perfectly-folded coat into the hole, and the coat was soon covered up with dirt. After that, everyone left, leaving three teenagers standing beside a kneeling, sobbing boy.


End file.
